


don't you know that it's just you

by a_fandom_affliction



Series: you'll do [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Castiel wants to love Dean but he doesn't think Dean loves him, Destiel - Freeform, Falling In Love, Get-Together Fic, Kissing, M/M, Overthinking, Phone Calls, Pining, Rambling, castiel is in denial, hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 21:13:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8029153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_fandom_affliction/pseuds/a_fandom_affliction
Summary: Castiel's a worrier, and Dean's oblivious. They belong together.





	don't you know that it's just you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eli_can_write](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eli_can_write/gifts), [Alex456w](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alex456w/gifts), [boopedbyanangel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boopedbyanangel/gifts).



> Gifted to my amazing readers of He's Kinda Cute, But Mostly Concerning. Thanks for sticking with me through my personal hellatus.
> 
> nelsonladies, boopedbyanangel, and alex456w - if you want to leave your email or kik (my kik is nerdalerrt if you're uncomfortable leaving it) in the comments of this, or contact my tumblr (samwinchestie), I can get you the last few chapters of He's Kinda Cute, But Mostly Concerning. I'm having trouble getting it to format on AO3, but you guys are my most awesome readers, and I figured I might as well get it to some people. :) Let me know.

 

_"Hi, I’m bored. What are you doing? I read a pretty book today. No, not just today. I’ve been reading it for three weeks because I read slowly. I’m not stupid, though. I just don’t like missing things. If I think I haven’t completely gotten something, I have to re-read, re-read.”_

 

The book was pretty. Castiel said that already. Dean said, “Hey, I love that book. Cool.” Castiel is sure it was a flippant comment, because Dean is made of those - he radiates them - but it made Castiel want to cry big, fat, attention-seeking tears.

 

Dean reads fast. Whenever Castiel gives him anything, he whizzes right through it. Dean thinks whizz is a funny word, it makes him laugh when Castiel uses words like whizz.

 

Castiel wants to go to sleep and wake up and find that Dean’s called him, but instead he just picks up another pretty book and reads it all night to prove to himself more and more that Dean’s wrong. He can call Castiel and say, “You read too much,” and Castiel will reply, “Yes, I do.”

 

Castiel listens to bad music sometimes, and Dean tsks and says, “No, listen to this.” Music is Dean’s passion. Castiel thinks that Dean worry’s he’s offended Castiel when he’s nasty about bad music, which is nice. When Castiel turns off the bad music and plays one of Dean’s “more than just noise, this means something” songs, Dean says, “You’re kind of cool,” and Castiel’s heart turns into a hot air balloon. Float, float, whizz.

 

Castiel thinks about Dean saying that over and over. “You’re kind of cool.”

 

“ _I want to run away with you, you have a lovely way with words.”_

 

Dean’s music is so much prettier than Castiel’s, and it makes him smile big, so he worries Dean will think he has ugly teeth. Castiel doesn’t have ugly teeth. He wants Dean to tell him that.

 

Castiel’s sorry, but he wishes Dean’s teeth were ugly. But Dean’s teeth are so, so perfect, and Castiel’s so, so sorry that he wishes they weren’t.

 

Castiel wants to know if Dean remembers their meeting. That makes it sound like it was a pre-planned corporate event, like it was a thing. It wasn’t a thing. Dean said, “aren’t you a friend of a friend?” And Castiel answered, “Maybe of a friend.” Dean laughed. The truth was, Castiel doubts that he was even a friend of a friend of a friend. They were vague and unconnected and hopeful. Dean said Castiel was funny. Castiel made Dean laugh.

 

Castiel re-re-re-re-recorded his answer tone message - that means he did it five times - after Dean left him a message, the premiere, the number one (“Heya, Cas. What’s up?). Dean left the message on Castiel’s answering machine, and he thought his voice was wrong.

 

Castiel wants to record the sound of Dean’s voice when he laughs and print it on a t-shirt, paint it on a wall, etch it into his brain.

 

Dean’s second voice message ever said, “I liked your old answer tone…”

 

Castiel’s so, so sorry. He tried to re-re-re-re-record it like it used to be, but it wouldn’t play right, wasn’t the same. It was just wrong.

 

Dean told Castiel that his dog died, and it made him sad. Castiel wants to buy Dean a dog that won’t ever, ever die. An immortal dog. Castiel hats dogs; they’re smelly and ugly and they bite and they’re similar to people, but Castiel would give Dean and indestructible dog. Completely in-vin-ci-ble. If he couldn’t find one, Castiel would build one. He’d push up his sleeves to get them out of the way, and then he’d build Dean a dog out of coloring pencils, and the grass they sat on last Saturday, and the screen of his phone when it says ONE NEW MESSAGE.

 

And Castiel said to Dean the other day, “I have a secret” - because he wanted to be interesting and Dean looked tired of him. Was Dean tired of Castiel and the stupid things he was saying? Castiel wanted to say, “Are you listening? Can I keep talking? Do you just let me bore you?”

 

“...I was going on a trip with my family, nd then someone said we couldn’t take the A train because i t didn’t stop close enough, and we’d be too cold to walk, and did you know I have a secret?”

 

Castiel said it like that, with no break in his story. He didn’t introduce the topic, he just asked. He said it like that.

 

Dean said, “Do you?”

 

Does he? Castiel nodded, and bit his lip, and Dean bit his lip and smiled, but Castiel didn’t take any teeth away from his lips. He thought, “Ugly teeth!” but Castiel still didn’t stop biting his lip until Dean said, “What happened with the train?”

 

Dean wanted to know what happened with the train.

 

And then Castiel blinked like he’d been hit, but he’d never been hit - Dean knows that, he thinks. Castiel might have told him that. Dean can’t tell - Dean doesn’t understand that flinch. It cannot be pinpoint. Still. Castiel told Dean his boring, boring story and Dean asked more question, and Castiel blinked more and more and more, to stop from crying, because Dean wanted to know what happened with the train. Dean didn’t want to know Castiel’s secret.

 

Castiel’s lips hurts in the morning, because he woke up, and there were NO MESSAGES and he chewed and chewed, and blamed it on the trains and his inane rambling and secrets and other people Dean prefers.

 

Castiel’s secret is that sometimes he wonders about Dean’s lips, because he doesn’t really know anything about them. No, he knows a little about them. For instance, the border between the lips and the surrounding skin is referred to as the vermilion border. The vertical groove on the upper lip is the philtrum. The skin between the upper lip and the nose is the ergotrid.

 

Ergotrid – Dean would like that word.

 

But that, Castiel could read in a book. What he just cannot pick up from a passage of writing is what Dean’s lips feel like. Castiel can only wonder. He thinks they’re like the paper birds he used to make with his brothers when he was small enough to believe in fairies and dreams and nightmares. And Dean’s lips are like the red flowers spilled on the floor of Castiel’s apartment. And they’re like a thunderstorm that reverberates, making more-than-just-noise music, and the lightning spells out “Dean” and “Castiel” across the sky.

 

That’s what Castiel thinks. People make him crazy sometimes, and he wants to kiss Dean.

There’s a party in the evening that Castiel might not go to, but Dean’s going to be there.

 

Dean doesn’t call Castiel sometimes. Castiel knows that he has to come to terms with that. That makes him laugh, coming to terms. Terms aren’t really a thing you can come to, arrive at. If you dissect it, it doesn’t make sense.

 

At the party they had friends, so Castiel ate some because parties make him tired, and he licked all the salt off his fingers in case someone saw and thought he never washed his hands, that he was disgusting. Castiel is disgusting. Castiel couldn’t wash his hands right then, because Dean said, “Have you drunk anything?” And Castiel said no, and drove Dean home, and Dean said that Castiel was too skinny in the same way he says that Castiel reads too much.

 

Castiel drove Dean home, and his car felt warmer when they talked about bees and stars and Traumatic Childhood Events. Dean’s breath had come out white and misty, exhaling phantoms to prove that Dean wasn’t a ghost.

Castiel and Dean are both connoisseurs of road safety, or at least they like to think they are. So Dean only grabbed Castiel’s hand and squeezed it when the car was parked, nice and safe, outside Dean’s building. Dean had such a strong grip, super-human strength.

“ _You’re my hero - can I kiss you?”_

 

Dean grabbed Castiel’s hand and squeezed, and Castiel said, “What,” because he couldn’t analyze the situation, and was hoping Dean could shed some light. Like a butterfly shedding its cocoon.

 

After seven lifetimes, Dean replied, “Nothing,” and, oh, he has a lovely way with words, and he’s so polite, but he needs to stop lying when people ask him questions, because then they try to dissect him and it doesn’t make sense, and after a while, Dean lets go and leaves.

 

The next morning, Castiel was awake when Dean called, because there are some nights when he just doesn’t sleep. Dean said that he read something that he liked, and that he wanted Castiel to read it. They chatted on the phone and didn’t talk about it and didn’t talk about it and didn’t talk about it and didn’t talk about it and didn’t talk about it.

 

Castiel’s car felt cold. It just didn’t make sense.

 

Dean said that Castiel’s music isn’t good enough for him, and Dean gave Castiel cassette tapes. Lots of the songs are loves songs, but then, lots of the songs in the world are love songs, so it doesn’t mean anything.

 

The songs Dean sent Castiel catch in his throat a little, and one of them says “Don’t let go,” and it hurts that Dean thinks he has to tell Castiel that, it hurts like Castiel’s lips when Dean doesn’t call.

 

Castiel said to Dean, “I liked the song, the “don’t let go” one.” And Dean said that he liked that one because of the instrumental between the lyrics. And Dean never held Castiel’s hand again, and Castiel never even thought about it. But it’s okay, because Castiel still listens to it lots and lots and lots, and he doesn’t. He doesn’t let go.

 

Castiel was ill, today, and tomorrow, and the day after that. He floated around in fragments, thumping head, achy teeth, and chapped lips. His eyes felt warm and open and blurred. Resting in a bed felt like resting inside his own mouth outside of his own skin, and, ah, his head. His skin felt like flannel and Castiel remembered the cough syrup he should have taken.

 

Dean sent Castiel a note to say “get well soon,” but didn’t visit. This - this whole Dean-not-visiting isolation television imagination situation - this was expected. Castiel was ready for Dean’s causal negligence; he always was. Back in his fever, his throat burns and it’s setting fire to his mind. Castiel’s been staying up too late. Three whole days in bed with too much sleep, and Dean doesn’t even visit. In his head, to pass time, Castiel relives things. They dance. Castiel grabs Dean’s hand.

 

And then Castiel’s better, he’s gotten well soon just like Dean said. He doesn’t smell like vomit, and he’s as good as new.

 

Dean says, “Oh, dude, you’re so pale.”

 

Castiel says, “I was ill,” and Dean nods sympathetically and he means it, Castiel thinks.

 

The next time Castiel’s hands touched Dean’s, Dean came to hang out for an hour or so, and Castiel wasn’t nervous, but he managed to drop a plant, because he’s so clumsy. On the floor was this plant, snapped and earthy, surrounded by shards of pottery. Castiel and Dean danced around it, and the soil between Castiel’s toes felt golden and bright, like a sunset.

 

After an hour, Dean went to go see another person, and Castiel knows about her is that she doesn’t have a silly secret about Dean. And she’s a girl. That’s all Castiel knows. She’s Dean’s friend. Castiel’s the person who accidentally dropped a plant with red flowers, red flowers like his stupid secret, and it made Dean laugh, and Dean said, “Let’s dance,” and Castiel thought, _Oh, so this is hanging out?_

 

Castiel decides that Dean is a catalyst. Catalysts are chemical; they are unchanged by reactions and they make things happen. They can work together with heat, or oxygen, or continuous stirring, but sometimes they will kickstart the buzzing fizzing all on their own. They don’t kill people, catalysts. Catalysts only speed things up. Come on, let’s go. Let’s start.

 

Dean has a lovely way with words, and he probably holds his friend’s hand much tighter than he holds Castiel’s.

 

Dean’s a catalyst.

 

Dean’s a scientist.

 

Dean’s a newly-discovered vitamin pill.

 

Dean’s a solemn warrior in the dark, saying, “It begins.”

 

Dean likes that movie, maybe just because Castiel doesn’t, and Castiel’s grateful for that. For disagreements, and movies, and for vitamin C and omega-3, self-improvement programs. Castiel’s grateful for his vitamin and mineral friends, their laughing and therapeutic conversation, and, “Hey, listen to this,” like dangling by a thick, sturdy thread.

 

Dean gives Castiel a slice of pie one day, and they watch a movie and wittily disagree, and don’t talk about the girl with no secrets about Dean. Castiel sees her again with someone else. It makes him feel refreshed and revitalized, like someone in an ad with low-cholesterol and decreased heart  problems. Omega-3 and vitamin C. Health food.

 

Even before Dean held Castiel’s hand and then didn’t talk about it, Castiel used a notepad and a pen to call him. He had to write down what he’d say, how he’ll start, word for word.

 

_“Hello, Dean. Want to know something funny?_

 

When Castiel gets the guts to call Dean, he reads off the script that he’s written, and he knows that Dean thinks he’s a bad actor, but that’s only because Castiel told Dean that he was. Castiel said, “I’m a bad actor,” and Dean said, “So?” But it’s easier when he’s written his own script. And Dean thinks how Castiel writes is pretty, so does Dean think what Castiel says is pretty? He must.

 

It’s quiet, so Castiel tells Dean that he’s not cut out for this. Dean may not be a catalyst, sometimes Castiel’s metaphors don’t translate to anything. Castiel doesn’t say that last bit, so Dean asks, “Not cut out for what?” And Castiel says, “Oh, sorry. Ignore me. It’s not important. Forget it.”

 

Castiel meant, “ _Oh, please. Notice me. It’s important. Remember me_.”

 

The next morning, there’s ONE NEW MESSAGE, and Dean’s saying, “Hey, Cas, how are you? Let’s meet up later.” Dean says that, not Castiel. Dean’s a bad actor, too, and he’s never mentioned writing. Complete improvisation.

 

“How are you?” How is he? He’s fine. He’s fantastic. Castiel is wonder-kid, with a bright red cape and an air balloon heart, all chapped lips and super-duper love, and he thinks a lot about words Dean likes, whizz and November and syrup and Donatello, and Dean’s grin carries Castiel all along the phone line.

 

One of Castiel’s orange-juice kind-face friends says that he seems happier. Bubbly. Castiel laughs because he can, and asks her if she means “like froth,” and she says “yeah.” Castiel buys a hot coffee with lots and lots of froth, and it’s warm and sweet, and he called Dean two days ago without writing down a single thing, not a word.

 

Castiel’s following Dean’s lead and improvising more and more, and they’re spending less time blinking and more time smiling, and Castiel’s ugly teeth stay away from his lips, and he dares himself to give Dean nicknames. Dean says, “Hey, remember that time we danced around your red plant?”

 

It’s great to be Dean’s friend.

 

Dean’s message in the morning didn’t scare Castiel. Nothing scares him. Castiel is Sonic, he’s Jonny Bravo, he’s Superman, he’s not scared of anything. Dean said that he wanted to talk, when he knows that Castiel will only start rambling something stupid. Does Dean want to hear that? He’s heard it before. He says he just wants to talk.

 

The sunrise was so elaborate that it made the sky strange and green, but it only reminded Castiel of envy. And if the sunrise can morph itself, then what?

 

Castiel thinks that maybe Dean wants to tell him that Dean’s moving away. Or Dean just doesn’t want to talk to Castiel anymore. Or Dean’s found someone, and fallen in love. Dean just remembered that they held hands once, and he’s going to ask Castiel to please not tell anyone. He never even knows.

 

If Dean wants to talk, Castiel will buy him coffee with vanilla in it. If Dean likes. Dean says, “I don’t want coffee, I want to talk.” Dean wants to go buy Castiel a scarf because he always looks cold. And Castiel blinks, and says, “I always look cold on my neck?” But what he means is, “I thought you wanted to talk?”

 

Dean holds up a dark green scarf. Castiel likes it in Dean’s hands - it looks soft, and it’s the same color as Dean’s eyes, and Dean says that Castiel needs to eat more. And Castiel says, “I know, I know.” Dean remembers the time when he held Castiel’s hand, and asks if Castiel minded that. Did he mind?

 

And then - oh. Oh, Castiel understands. He understands as it happens.

 

Kissing feels like kissing, Dean feels like Dean, this feels like home.

 

They’re still in the scarf shop, surrounded by patchwork fabrics, and everything is suddenly easy and sweet. Dean’s stroking Castiel’s knuckles like there’s a treasure buried just beneath them. There isn’t, but Castiel doesn’t mind if Dean wants to keep looking. Just in case.

 

Dean buys Castiel the dark-green-soft-warm scarf, and he wears it all day.

 

**Author's Note:**

> pointless, plotless, and sorta weird. just my type. 
> 
> comment what you all think.


End file.
